


Fish Are Friends, Not Food

by RedLlamas



Series: Swords and Bandages [1]
Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Slow Build, Slow Burn, can it even be called that?, idk they've got puppy crushes on each other, ish, teaching modernisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLlamas/pseuds/RedLlamas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ahkmenrah is going to rip out Lancelot's hair.</p>
<p>     He did not know trying to teach Lancelot about the new world (or what little he himself knew) was going to be <i>this</i> hard. He expected Lancelot to be hesitant, yes, but not <i>this</i> stubborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish Are Friends, Not Food

Ahkmenrah is going to rip out Lancelot's hair.

He did not know trying to teach Lancelot about the new world (or what little he himself knew) was going to be _this_ hard. He expected Lancelot to be hesitant, yes, but not _this_ stubborn.

"Slaves don't exist anymore?" was one of Lancelot's many dim comments.

"No," was Ahkmenrah's reply, which was given as he thunked his head onto the table they were sat at.

"But, why?"

"Because the world realized at some point after I died that slaves are people and should be treated as such."

There was a pause. Ahkmenrah looked up to see Lancelot's reaction. He was confused for a second, opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again. He looked like a fish. A stupid blonde fish. A cute stupid blonde fish. A really hot blonde fish.

Ra fucking dammit. He slams his face back onto the table before figuring out Lancelot's expression. He can hear what Lance is feeling, though, as he says, "But they're things."

"No they're not. Anyone that is not white —" Ahkmenrah sat up properly and gestured to Lancelot, "— Such as yourself, is a person, a human being, with emotions, feelings, dreams, ambitions. A person is a person, no matter what color they are."

Lancelot heard this, but did not know how to process this. Slaves as people. A slave is a person. Like himself (if he were real). He is being told this from a dead mummy born 4,000 years earlier. This pharaoh, this _king_ — he is brown. Lancelot is white, but in this moment he feels inferior at being the subject of Ahkmenrah's cold stare.

He looks down at the table.

What would have been if Guinevere had been black? Would he still have loved her?

... He doesn't know if he wants to know the answer to that or not. All he knows is that Ahkmenrah is probably judging him.

He stares back. Ahkmenrah glares. There is silence, save for the background noise the other museum exhibits create.

Lancelot's voice is solemn when he speaks, "You're right, my King. I'm sorry for giving a blind eye to this matter."

Now Ahk's confused. Lance just agreed with him, on something very important, without making a big deal that he consented to new ideas. Ahkmenrah was a bit thrown off.

"Wow. That was easy. Only twenty minutes this time, that's a record," he said not knowing what else to say. This was partly Lancelot's fault. He was getting a bit flustered because Lance was still looking at him.

Lancelot himself didn't know why he was staring this long. It only ever happened when he saw a beautiful girl. Now that he's taking into consideration what the young pharaoh had said, he's looking at him differently. In a different light.

This different light certainly suits the king. Not that he had thought of him as being lowly, for having darker skin, but because it strips away any negative connotations and stereotypes Lancelot could have subconsciously had. It sheds the skin and bones and leaves a soul who is adjusting to new life in a semi-foreign land in a new era.

Just like him.

Another stretch of silence is upon them. Ahkmenrah is shifting uneasily. Lancelot is still as wax should.

"Tell me more about today's world."

Ahkmenrah blinks. He blinks again. "What?" Ah yes, so eloquent.

Lancelot props up his face with his hands, elbows on the table. "Tell me more." There is a faint smile on his face.

Ahkmenrah is surprised; Lancelot's never been one to actively ask for anything. He blinks again, clears his throat, and begins,

"Alright. Well, I assume you already know that our solar system is heliocentric ..."


End file.
